


(in a sky full of stars) i think i saw you

by abyssith



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ashes Scene in Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Last Time, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), SPOI L ER S, SPOILERS GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE IF YOU DON'T WANT IT, Spoilers, Stargazing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wakanda, and will to live, don't let these tags fool you, except this fixes nothing, infinity war broke my spirit, my god this is just about the most romantic thing i've ever written, steve rogers is actually terrified, there is not a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssith/pseuds/abyssith
Summary: “I’ve watched you die once already. I’ve watched you almost die twice. I’ll never be able to live with myself if I have to let you go again.”





	(in a sky full of stars) i think i saw you

**Author's Note:**

> “We look up at the same stars and see such different things.”
> 
> —George R.R. Martin

He visits Bucky once before the world ends.

He would have rather gone much earlier, but plans change all the time. He and his band of criminals (as the United Nations and, really, every other credible government, seemed so adamant about calling them) can only get remotely near Wakanda two years and three months after leaving Bucky in the African country. And it’s a stroke of luck, too: a chance run-in with Okoye and some Wakandan spies while fleeing the feds got them a glitchy audience with King T’Challa, who allows Steve to visit after some heavy convincing and compromising. Much to the others’ irritation, however, they must stay behind in an outpost near the main city; they cannot risk hosting so many known and wanted faces.

Eventually they manage a deal. Steve would stay no longer than three days, and he would not be seen by the public. He doesn’t mind this. He’s there for one reason, and once it is fulfilled, he will leave. 

He leaves his friends on a cloudy Tuesday just after the sun slips under the horizon, escorted alone by T’Challa himself. There is no ship; they would make this journey on foot.

There is seldom a word spoken between them. They’re both more than aware of the necessity of remaining under the radar, and Steve assumes he knows just as well as T’Challa how important silence can be. There are a few times, though, when Steve can’t help but ask questions about Bucky. How he is doing, what he has been doing, where he has been staying. If he’s happy. T’Challa answers quickly and simply, but a light touch on the shoulder and the hint of a grin behind his words assures Steve that his brusque manner is not a sign of hostility.

It begins to rain midway through their run through the jungle. Neither man slows down.

It’s a little past midnight when they arrive. It’s through the opposite side of the fabricated mountain than where Steve had entered on his first trip to Wakanda. T’Challa guides him to a little cave tucked between two huge tree trunks and leads him inside. As they walk into the rocky corridor, Steve can feel reality shifting around him, and he knows he is within Wakandan borders. They emerge at the foot of the real mountain behind the palace.

Through a system of tunnels and rooms hidden in plain sight, they end up at the heart of the palace deep underground. T’Challa leads him up several flights of stairs and more than a few glassy elevators that Steve, despite having been all over S.H.I.E.L.D.’s old high-technology headquarters, can’t help but gape at. A few minutes later, along with plenty more exotically decorated hallways, Steve finds himself at a door.

“He is in here,” T’Challa tells him, standing as still as the vase filled with fuzzy green stems beside the doorframe.

Steve looks at him. “Here?”

“Yes. Originally we placed him in a hut near the pastures by one of our lakes for rehabilitation, but he hardly needed it.” T’Challa chuckles. “We decided it would be unfit for a friend of Steve Rogers to stay in a place like that, so we…upgraded him. He still goes to tend to the cattle on his own time; it's something of a therapy to him. But, in the end, I think it was a mutual decision to move your friend here.”

A grateful smile tugs at the sides of Steve’s mouth. “Thank you,” he says, and T’Challa dips his head. A thought occurs to him. “Where—where will I stay?”

T’Challa shrugs, as if it couldn’t possibly matter. “Contact me with this,” he begins, tossing Steve a strange, perfectly spherical metallic bead the size of a large grape, “if you decide you need a room. But if you feel so inclined, you may stay with him.”

Steve blinks but then nods, slipping the orb into his pocket. “Alright. Thank you again, for…all of this.”

“I will leave you be. Send for Shuri or me if trouble arises or you find you need something.” T’Challa bids farewell with the Wakandan salute, which Steve returns without hesitation. The king vanishes scarcely five seconds later.

Steve turns back to the door and takes a breath. He lifts his hand and knocks. It’s a good, rounded sound made through the dark wood.

He hears a flurry of movement muffled by the door, followed by slow but confident footsteps. He finds this unusual for Bucky until he remembers that in Wakanda, sheltered in T’Challa’s home, there is no reason for the man to fear anyone. “Hold on!” —that’s Bucky’s voice. 

Steve knows he needs to brace himself. The very sound of Bucky is enough to throw that stupid grin back onto his face, and if he closes his eyes he could make himself believe he was standing in Brooklyn eighty years ago on the steps of his friend’s apartment.

The knob turns and then he’s staring into Bucky’s eyes that look as cool and light as the raindrops from the evening pour. They don’t recognize him at first, and Steve doesn’t expect them to. There’s a word on Bucky’s opened lips but it dies without a sound as he stares at Steve in surprise. He takes this time to examine Bucky’s face, of which the bottom half is hidden with a beard that has grown in even thicker than before. Long shaggy hair falls around his shapely jaw, giving Steve uncomfortable memories of the Winter Soldier until he firmly pushes them away. But the look of familiarity that gradually fills Bucky’s eyes is all the same, and the man whispers, “Steve.”

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, and then he’s being grabbed by the shoulder and pulled against a well-muscled chest. There’s only one arm to embrace him, but it’s strong enough to ensure that he would be hard-pressed to break away. Steve responds to this the same way, burying his face and hugging him just as tightly. He gets a better grip where Bucky’s shoulder ends in a stump and wraps his arm around Bucky’s neck. They stay like this for a minute, an eternity, giving Steve ample time to detect the scent of cinnamon clinging to Bucky’s loose black shirt. This is what makes him lean back, just enough to look Bucky in the eye and laugh, “Are you wearing cologne?”

He sees the blush spread through Bucky’s cheeks an instant later. “Maybe,” Bucky says with a shy smile. “Shuri, uh. She’s the one who gave it to me.”

“I don’t think I’ve met her.”

“T’Challa’s sister,” Bucky explains. “I met her first when I got out of it. She’s really sweet, really smart.” He says this with a kind of warmth that would indicate a good friendship that had formed, but he doesn’t say anymore. He’s too busy looking Steve over again. “A beard? You got a beard, now?”

Steve laughs again. Smiles and laughter, that’s all he can seem to produce around Bucky. He touches his face self-consciously. “Yeah. I don’t get a lot of time to shave, y’know, running from the law. You like it?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Suddenly he looks sad. “They see you as a criminal, now, don’t they?” 

The spell of their reunion breaks.

Steve sighs and lets the hug dissolve. He shuts the door and instinctively locks it without having to think about it. “Buck, it’s not that big a deal. Really. And I know you’re gonna blame yourself for it, but, please. It’s not your fault. It was my choice and I don’t regret picking it. So don’t, okay?”

Passing Bucky, Steve gets the first real good look of his friend’s accommodations. It’s a generously sized room, carpeted with a lush rug depicting gold tribal patterns that seems to tell a story Steve can’t quite decipher. There’s a couple couches surrounding a low table with various books strewn over it; one of them is flipped upside down to keep a page open. Much of the room’s light comes from a fire that flickers in an alcove on the other side of the room that gives off no smoke but generates heat. There’s a flat-screen TV that doesn’t seem to have been used. In the corner is a large bed covered in blankets and pillows more luxurious than anything Steve has ever seen. He’s certain Bucky did not sleep in it for a long time, but by the looks of it, he is now. The far wall sharing the corner beside the bed is a long glass window to the outside scene of night. The entire room is warm, homey even. Steve can imagine Bucky staying here with a notebook and a chunk of graphite, scrawling letters and jotting his thoughts down. 

“You know I will,” Bucky says, moving to stand beside Steve. He pulls at his shirt collar and purses his lips. “I’m sorry. I—I feel like I owe you. For what you did for me. And I know you said—”

“ _Bucky._ ” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder that goes to slide up to his cheek, cupping it tenderly as he comes around to face him. Softly he says, “There’s not a world that exists where I could have done anything otherwise.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lift as he murmurs, “That’s the problem.”

“It’s a problem that I care about you?”

“Maybe.” Bucky’s voice is so quiet, so fragile. He leans in, and Steve’s eyes widen as their foreheads come to rest together. He wants to pull Bucky even closer, but he can’t muster up the courage. Bucky’s eyes burn into his own, just beyond their noses. “But I already know I can’t talk you out of it.”

Steve is smiling wide again, even though he’s afraid Bucky can feel how fast his pulse is racing. His fingers curl tighter around Bucky’s jaw and hopes his palms aren’t as clammy as he feels they are. “So don’t even try.”

“I missed you, Steve.”

“God, I missed you, too. I wanted to come sooner, I did, “ Steve admits, “but—well, you know.”

Bucky hums and gently grabs Steve’s wrist to guide it away. He doesn’t let it go, though, even though he puts a comfortable foot of air between their faces. “Will you stay here?”

“I wish I could. I only have three days, but that…” Steve’s voice trails off because he can tell by the look in Bucky’s eyes that that wasn’t what he meant. “Oh. Oh, yeah, of course. Of course I’ll stay here. You think I wouldn’t?”

“I was hoping.” Then Bucky tugs on Steve’s wrist to bring him in again. His hand fastens around the back of Steve’s neck and secures his face against Bucky’s shoulder, something Steve doesn’t fight. He feels the thick beard scratch against the vulnerable part where his jaw and his neck meet just underneath his ear and shivers as Bucky breathes, “The last time I held you like this was before I left, you know.”

Steve knows what Bucky means. _Before he left for the war._ Eighty years ago. They shared quick hugs and tender words while they were running from Tony’s group back then, but none of them counted as much as this one is. Even though Bucky had two arms in all of the other ones—as if Steve could find room to care. 

“I remember,” he says. He strokes Bucky’s hair in a daze, loosening the tangles with his fingers. “You cried a little.”

“I don’t recall that.”

“I’m surprised you recall anything.”

Bucky laughs. “That’s fair, Steve.”

And then they stand there in silence again, neither making any move to part. They listen to each other breathe and feel the rise and fall of their chests in time with the other’s. Bucky doesn’t move his face but occasionally he shifts it, bringing attention to his beard on Steve’s skin again. Every movement sends a rush of _something_ that spreads through Steve’s body and he has to do his best not to make it obvious how he’s made to respond to that simple action. He focuses on his hand flat against the small of Bucky’s back and marvels at how incredible it is that he can even do that now, all things considered. Once upon a time he could hardly clasp Bucky’s hand. Now he’s here, almost cradling the other man in his arms, and so close to what he’s been seeking for nearly a century.

He gathers all his boldness and willpower and everything that makes him Captain America and opens his mouth to try and get the words out. But at that moment Bucky suddenly jerks him backwards in one abrupt movement, fastening his hold on Steve’s shoulder and staring at him with eyes so bright and excited Steve can hardly believe they are his. “Oh,” he exclaims. “Wakanda—I swear they have a different set of stars than us. It's incredible. I’ve been staring at them every night, and I think that’s why T’Challa gave me this room.”

“What?” Steve is still reeling with the forceful interruption.

“Look,” Bucky says, and oh, he’s holding Steve’s hand. He walks through the room with the energy of a ten-year-old boy and sits him down on the side of the bed facing the window. He lets go of Steve as he comes to stand beside him and points, saying, “You see that?”

Steve leans forward, finding it’s quite hard on a bed that seems to sink a foot under his weight. He lifts his head and tries to find the source of Bucky’s strange joy that he, frankly, can’t believe could possibly exist again in his overextended life. Yes—there are the stars. And he immediately understands what Bucky means. “God,” he says under his breath, all at once taken with the sky he sees. “There are millions of them.”

Bucky makes a sound of agreement and remains at his place next to the window. “Did we ever stargaze as kids, Steve?”

He takes a second to try and summon the hazy memories from a lifetime ago. “I don’t know,” Steve says softly. “But I like to think we did.”

Bucky only nods, quiet once again. And that's more than okay with Steve. Right now, the silence between them is the most welcome sensation he could ask for, because it means at last they, with the company of only each other, feel safe. Something Steve has not felt in a long, long time. He suspects he will not feel it again once he leaves Wakanda, and so he does his best to relish every part of this moment. It isn’t hard at all.

He watches the sky, cleared of the storm that had poured on him and T’Challa earlier. Now it's cast in a deep indigo shade with splashes of lighter blue and even a little violet blooming among the few clouds that are left. Beyond that are the little sparkling lights like the freckles on Bucky’s face, dappling the night in a glow that Steve can only explain as _Wakanda._ Even if Steve were awake and alert every day that passed while he was encased in ice, watching every sunset and every midnight he missed, he knows nothing would come close to the serene magnificence he sees before him.

But then he tears his eyes away to look at the man at his side. To look at the awe in his eyes, the little smile that seems so natural on his face made rugged by war, the peace Steve can see Bucky is under that could never have possibly existed just a short while ago. His expression is highlighted in a layer of moonlight and makes him look seventy years younger. This image of Bucky, an image enough to make even the sky pale in comparison, brings a furious red heat that clutches Steve’s throat and cheeks and ears. And it is enough for Steve to hold his breath and reach out.

Bucky flinches in surprise but relaxes just as soon. He looks at Steve’s shaking hand gripping his bicep and then meets his anxious eyes. It isn’t a usual sight, and even Bucky looks startled. Steve guesses, just by the concern like a grimace on Bucky's face, that he must look like he's about to cry. He supposes that would be appropriate.

“Steve,” Bucky frowns. “Is everything okay? Do you—do you have to leave?”

“No—no. I’m fine, I mean—” Steve takes a deep breath that shudders in his chest and tries to loosen his hold on Bucky before it becomes too clear that he’s on edge. He begins saying things as soon as they come to his head. “Bucky, you know…you know I have no idea if I’ll ever see you again. After I leave.”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “But—don’t say that, Steve, not so soon.” The sad look returns to his face. “Don’t remind me.”

Steve has to look away to clear his mind. He knows what he needs to say. He knows what he needs to do. And he knows who he has to be, as much as he wishes Bucky could read his mind and take the reins from here. “Every time I get close to saying it, you disappear,” he says slowly. The blood roars in his ears. “And I can’t let that happen again. But sometimes I—” He swallows hard and chuckles shyly as he confesses, “I get afraid, Buck.”

“Captain America? Afraid?” Bucky’s got that innocent smirk that looks like he’s mocking Steve, but his voice is gentle as he speaks. So different than what Steve grew accustomed to. “Of something you’re trying to say to _me?_ ”

“You would be, too.”

“I doubt it. I’ve known you all my life. Or…” Bucky pauses. “Both of them. I just…can’t seem to shake you off.”

The fond smile that has all the affection of a soldier for a beat-up kid in an alley and all the memories of a man who has seen the world rise and fall around him that follows Bucky’s words is what gives Steve the power to speak and move. “And I just keep having to watch you leave,” he whispers, taking Bucky’s face in his hands again. “I’ve watched you die once already. I’ve watched you _almost_ die twice. I’ll never be be able to live with myself if I have to let you go again.” 

“Steve—”

Steve can’t let him say anything else. He closes his eyes and leans forward, angling his head at the last second. He can sense the adrenaline surging through his veins; he can feel his heart thrashing against his chest; he can feel the fire in his skin. But somehow, through it all, he can feel the lips against his own. He can feel them _responding._

At first he is stiff, too afraid to let the kiss travel deeper. Until he realizes Bucky’s hand is sidling around to the back of his head and into the dirty blond locks, where they fasten and do not let go. Steve can feel the heat from Bucky’s body so close to his own, radiating from where their faces touch and where their chests bump together. And then he lets himself relax.

Like everything, their breaths are hot. Hot when Steve opens his mouth and Bucky exhales at that same moment. The intimacy of sharing the same air overwhelms Steve with the feeling of vulnerability and renewal and security in the same space, and his composure almost breaks when his mind goes blank. He wants to touch Bucky, every part of him, but in the moment he can’t concentrate on anything except for the tentative but unrelenting way their lips flawlessly fit together. There’s some silent conversation in this, too, a sort of mutual understanding: that this is long overdue, that this will never end even if the kiss does, that no matter what paths they wind up on, nothing will ever change what happened here. That in some time, somewhere, in some life, something strong sealed them together beyond their previous bond. Something that transcends worlds, stars, lives, minds, and time itself. 

When they part, maybe a year later, their eyes do not leave each other. The fact that Bucky appears unchanged, that he still looks exactly the same, as if the kiss might have done something horrible—Steve is somehow calmer than he has ever been. 

“Steve,” Bucky says again. And Steve hangs onto that word, wondering how his name ever earned the right to be uttered that tenderly, that longingly. He’s got a catalogue of every time Bucky has ever said his name, and it’s like the universe selected all the best ones and laced them together with gold. 

Without even really deciding to, Steve kisses Bucky again. There is no hesitation, no questioning if he should be doing this, no confusion over who they are now. It is harder, it is stronger, it is beautiful. Steve tastes Bucky’s tongue for the first time and finds out just how effective a single hand can be; he locks one arm around Bucky’s waist and fists a hand into his hair and holds on for dear life. He holds on because he’s waited longer than any living man has had to wait to do this, to _experience_ this with a love that lasted even beyond a frozen grave. He holds on because he’s starved for decades and can’t bear to be without what he craves ever again. He holds on because he’s terrified that if he lets go, Bucky will disappear. And Steve refuses to think about what will happen if it does.

Bucky seems to have similar thoughts, because his hand comes to rest around Steve’s jaw and clutches him so hard it almost hurts. But Steve welcomes the pain, because after all the anguish he’s borne just to get to this moment, he can take a little more. He can hear the desperation in Bucky’s unsteady breathing and he knows his sounds the same. He begins to smile. Like he always has.

This time, when they lean away to breathe, Steve is the first to say the other’s name. In a low voice he murmurs, “Bucky,” and Bucky is there, just an inch away from his lips with eyes like bottomless pools of starlight. In another life, maybe Steve would say more, something less cliché. But he’s already missed one. So in this one, he only says, “I love you.” 

And he knows it’s true the moment it leaves his mouth, that it’s always been true. The time never seemed right until now, though. He doubts that at any other time there would be real, crystalline tears swelling in his eyes and leaving little silver streaks in their wake down his face. He doubts that Bucky would be crying, too. Crying and moving forward to embrace Steve once again, just so he could say into his ear, “I love you, too.”

There it is. Any regret, any inhibition Steve may have had about anything up until this point in time melts away. If just for a short while, he welcomes the decision to make Bucky the center of his world. His entire universe. It becomes him and the man in his arms and the sparkling sky outside of their window, invisible to everything else. And nothing seems to be missing. He squeezes Bucky once, and Bucky squeezes back.

They could have very well remained like that until they turned to stone, but something must catch Bucky’s eye. “Steve, look,” he says, turning his head on Steve’s shoulder and beckoning with his chin to the window.

Steve straightens, just a little, and leans to look back outside. It’s still as stunning as before, but now he catches the shooting star crossing the ocean in the sky right before it disappears. “Make a wish,” he mumbles.

“I already did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, tapping Steve’s back and laughing quietly. “Did you?”

Steve bites his lip and closes his eyes. He has just gotten what he’s wished for since he was a teenager. He now knows happiness on a level all its own. What more could he want?

And yet his next wish comes with the easiest decision of his life. He hums in agreement and of course Bucky asks what he wished for.

“You,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s forehead. “You know it’s always you.”

“But you’ve got me,” Bucky whispers.

“I want you until the end of the line.”

It takes Bucky a long moment to answer. He clears his throat and Steve watches the line of his neck bob as Bucky swallows. “Always,” he chokes out. Their lips meet again for a brief time before Bucky pulls away and drops his forehead onto Steve’s. “Always.”

“Promise me.” 

Steve doesn’t need to see Bucky’s mouth to know he’s smiling.

“I promise.”

.

.

.

The world ends. Steve isn’t ready.

He isn’t ready to hear his name again. Spoken so softly, so gingerly, so much like it might shatter at any given second.

“Steve,” Bucky says. And Steve turns.

He isn’t ready to see Bucky stumbling towards him, grime and blood smeared across his face like some horribly twisted painting. He isn’t ready to see Bucky reach out, his eyes so blank and blue and scared, and take one step forward.

He isn’t ready to watch Bucky’s foot never meet the ground.

He isn’t ready to watch his world turn into ash and dust that coats the dead grass beneath his feet.

He isn’t ready to feel the numbness set in on him again, to remember how cold and barren he felt the day he watched Bucky fall from his hands on the mountainside.

He isn't ready to lose him again.

He never was. And he never will be. There's a hole inside of him, again. He can't bear to try and fill it again.

 

He isn’t ready to look back up at the stars in Wakanda on the first night that half the universe will never get to see. Because they’re not beautiful anymore. Not without someone, not without _him,_ to gaze at them with Steve.

He sees a shooting star through the tears of heartbreak.   Another comet burning through this broken world’s atmosphere. He never makes another wish.

He wonders if, somewhere, Bucky saw it, too.

 

 

_END_

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to make me feel better after that movie. It did not.
> 
> EDIT: I recently found out it was, in fact, confirmed that Steve has visited Bucky many times before the fight in Wakanda featured in Infinity War. So apologies for that inconsistency; I wasn't aware of that at the time of writing! I might go back and tweak the beginning when I decide I'm feeling productive


End file.
